Nevermore
by nazgulslayer
Summary: 10. The Doctor and Martha become trapped on a hospital ship, with a dangerousand telepathic killer hidden somewhere among the patients. And he has just found his next targets...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Distress Signal

A hoarse alarm shrilled and a mauve light flashed within the TARDIS. The Doctor paused from fiddling with something behind an access panel and hurried to the center console. "Distress signal—Priority One," he mused, and quickly rammed a lever down.

The TARDIS shuddered, and Martha came careening out of an open doorway. "Ow! Doctor, what are you doing?"

In blue suit, with glasses stuck on his head, the Doctor turned, looking almost surprised to see her. "Ah, Martha. Did you get that ionic crystal?"

"Yeah, I think so," Martha replied, "but it looks broken." She handed the Doctor a pale green crystal that was chipped and cracked.

"Hmmm," the Doctor surveyed it. "So it is." He tossed it aside negligently, and turned back to the console. "Twenty seconds," he nodded.

"Twenty seconds to what? Doctor, what's going on?"

The Doctor gave Martha an insane smile. "Just your normal everyday distress signal, which, being a good citizen, I feel obliged to answer. We _are _in a police call box after all." He suddenly looked up. "Whoa, hang on here, might be a bit of a rough—" the TARDIS suddenly shook violently, lifting both Martha and the Doctor off their feet, and bursting sparks from the central console, the lights fluttering briefly.

Martha pushed herself upright. "Let me guess: landing," she finished.

"That," the Doctor replied, "would be absolutely correct." He ran to the central console and sliced open a panel with the sonic screwdriver. Instantly a cloud of thick smoke exhumed out, covering the Doctor. He pulled his head out, coughing. "Well, that's not good."

"What? What's wrong?" Martha was instantly on alert.

"Well, my ion crystal's burned out, so until I can find my good ones, which are hidden somewhere in this old girl," he waved a hand around, "we can go through time, but not space. So we'll wind up at this point in space-time, but it'll be throughout time. Which I imagine will get boring after a while. So let's look at these people's distress signal, then I'll just have to find myself a good crystal."

"So we're stuck here for a while?" This brought up a few bad memories for Martha.

"Yeah, I think that pretty much covers the situation," the Doctor said amiably. "So let's go and solve this problem."

The Doctor opened the doors of the TARDIS and stepped out with a smile. Seconds later there was a dull _thud!_ sound. "Doctor!" Martha ran out to find the Doctor holding his forehead. "Who puts cooling pipes this low? Honestly!" the Doctor asked indignantly.

Martha grinned and put out a hand to help the Doctor. "Why don't you watch where you're going?" she suggested.

"Really now," the Doctor said. "Wait here a moment; all the steam in this engine room is going to ruin my suit unless I put a coat over it." He disappeared back into the TARDIS, and Martha smiled. Sometimes the Doctor just… Behind her there was a metallic sound.

She spun, and saw a silhouette through the steam. "Hello?" she called. "Hello? We're here to help you!" Instead of answering, there was a flash of light, and an orange beam hit her, and for a second Martha felt peculiarly warm, then she knew nothing more.

The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS, coat on, and all smiles. "There we go. Better already Martha—Martha!" The Doctor rushed to his companion, but a voice from beyond the steam commanded, "Him too," and the beam flashed again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Savant's Ark

Conciousness returned slowly to the Doctor. The transition from darkness to light came suddenly as he opened his eyes to find a blinding white light stabbing him. He flinched away from it, and a voice, the same one that had commanded someone to stun him, said, "Doctor, this one's up."

_Doctor? _He thought. _Not me obviously, so I must be in a medical ward_.

He felt the light being adjusted, so he opened his eyes again to find a man wearing the outfit of a doctor staring down at him. "Good day there," he said. "I'm Dr. Lyons. What's your name?"

The Doctor felt a grin coming to his face. "I'm the Doctor," he said cheerfully.

Dr. Lyons frowned from behind his surgical mask. "Doctor Who?"

The Doctor chuckled at the familiarity. He needed that. "Just the Doctor. Don't worry; everyone always says that." He tried to sit up, then found he was strapped down to his bed. "Would you mind letting me up?" he asked politely.

Lyons shook his head. "Sorry, but until you tell me how on earth you got on board this ship, I can't let you go anywhere."

"Ah," the Doctor said. "Now, that's a bit inconvenient. Because I imagine that if I told you, you'd diagnose me as a loony, and that would be a bit bad for my image."

Lyons frowned. "I can't place your accent…Doctor. Would you mind telling me where you're from?"

"Well, that there is a good cultural measurer," the Doctor said, delighted. "This accent comes from Earth—Old Earth, I'm going to have to say, if the accents have changed that much." That thought triggered another and he asked, "Incidentally, where's my companion?"

"You mean the female?" Dr. Lyons asked.

"No, I mean the other person I was with when we were attacked without reason. Of course I mean her!" He paused for a second. "And where am I, by the way?"

"You're on the _Savant's Ark_, a hospital ship. Your companion is over there," he indicated an area which, out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor could barely tell was shrouded by white curtains. "She's fine. Just taking a little longer to recover from the stun blast." Dr. Lyons frowned again, an expression which seemed to fit his face. "On a tangent, what species are you? I've never encountered your physiology before; I have no idea if your vitals are stable or not. I can't even begin to guess. You _look _human, but if you are, then I'm Premier of the League."

"Sorry?" the Doctor asked. "You referring to the League of Planets?"

"Yes, of course I am," Dr. Lyons said in an irritated voice. "What other League would I be talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," the Doctor said quickly. "Well, then, that would make it the—43rd century?"

"By the Old Earth calendar, I guess," Lyons said. "By that it's 4256, but by the Galactic Calendar, it's 1362."

"Ah, yes," the Doctor said. "The Great Convention. I almost forgot." He frowned suddenly. "I'm on a hospital ship?"

"Yes," Lyons said, "I told—"

"I know, I know!" the Doctor said, annoyed. "But what happened to the Code of Refuge? Galactic Law of Sanctuary Hospice? Any of these very important regulations ringing a bell? Ones like, 'It's illegal to restrain me'?"

Lyons sighed. "Doctor, please. You're obviously a well-educated man, I can tell by your mannerism, setting aside some of your comments, but please: you and your companion are not listed either as medical staff, patients, or repair crew. There is no record of you boarding this ship, or even being on it until your mysterious blue box—which I understand our technicians have so far failed to open—triggered an alarm. There is also no record of the blue box, so I am forced to conclude you are a stowaway, or a suspect, though how you got the blue box aboard this ship is a complete mystery."

"I—wait, I'm sorry, did you say, 'suspect'?" the Doctor queried. "Suspect in what?"

Lyons gave the Doctor a cold gaze. "I am afraid that must wait Doctor. Nurse, if you would bring me the Yannetin; I believe the Doctor should join his companion in recuperative rest."

Something nagged at the back of the Doctor's mind; after a moment, he realized what it was. "Did you say Yannetin?" he asked. "More importantly, did you give my companion Yannetin?"

Lyons shrugged. "Yes. She experienced difficulty with the stun, so we decided her body could use time to recover."

The Doctor paled. "Oh God. Let me up. Let me up now." When Lyons frowned, the Doctor shouted, "Lyons, you moron! She's never been acclimatized! That drug is killing her!"

Lyons' eyes widened, and he rushed to the bed he indicated earlier, thrusting open the curtains, and suddenly giving a low moan. "Nurse, bring me Galrox, _this instant!_"

"Lyons!" The Doctor bellowed. "Lyons, let me up! Let me help before you try and kill her again!"

"Hold the Galrox for a second," Lyons panted, and rushed to the Doctor's side, undoing his bonds in moments. He sprang to his feet, flexing his wrists, feeling the circulation return for a moment before he rushed to Martha's side. She didn't look good; her skin looked drawn and paling; she reminded the Doctor of someone fighting desperately for life. "She's in a form of analeptic shock," the Doctor said quickly, more to himself than Lyons, who certainly knew this. "God I hope it's not a stroke…Galrox, what is it? What does it do?"

"Reverses Yannetin," Lyons stammered. "And other drugs like it. It was for use in poorer areas—"

"—where people haven't been acclimatized!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Get it going!"

The nurse began pumping the (hopefully) lifesaving medicine into Martha, as Lyons prepared a hypodermic needle. "I'm going to give her a shot of Lynadine to help draw the Yannetin out," he said, and the Doctor nodded, staring frantically at Martha, feeling helpless, an old feeling welling up inside him, one of a place called Canary Wharf…

"All _right!_" Lyons yelled. "It's working, her vitals are starting to stabilize. I think she's gonna make it Doctor!"

The Doctor let out a long breath. It might be too soon to tell, but all he felt was overwhelming relief, almost bordering on ecstasy.

After a few minutes of tension, Dr. Lyons sighed happily. "Well, Doctor, that's official; your companion's going to make it. She's in a recuperative sleep for six to eight hours, hopefully. When she wakes up, she'll be as right as rain."

"Glad that expression hasn't worn out," the Doctor muttered under his breath. Then something more pressing resurged in his mind. "Let's get back to that talk about suspects; what am I a suspect for?"

Lyons sat on the edge of an empty bed, massaging his temples. "Nurse, could you inform the Captain I think it is very likely the Doctor and his companion are friendly, then get us some coffee?" Apparently accustomed to such orders, the Nurse walked out, leaving the pair alone.

Lyons stripped off his surgical mask and sighed. "It's been nine days since we left Priax Five; in that time, we've had four murders here aboard the _Savant's Ark_."

The Doctor frowned. "Murders? And all of them since you left Priax Five?"

Lyons nodded, seeming weary. "We didn't pick up any new crew, so every time I'm here in the ward, with the patients…God, Doctor, one of them's a killer! Some of them are lying there completely helpless, and I won't be able to save them! That's as good as a violation of my Oath!" He panted, torn by the emotions racing through him, emotions that had allowed him to reveal something to a complete stranger.

The Doctor gave him an appraising look. "And—correct me if I'm wrong here—but even if you did find the killer, would Galactic Law allow you to capture him?"

Lyons sighed. "We'd have to ask for a police force at our next port to get him off, and we'd have to have complete evidence. Those regulations you mentioned earlier are some of the most treasured in the galaxy."

"As well they should be," the Doctor said in grave, soft tones. "Well, while we're waiting for my companion to wake, why don't you answer a few questions I have?"

"Like what?" Lyons asked miserably.

"Like the nature of these murders," the Doctor said. "I'm a—er, traveler, and I've seen a lot over the years. I'd like to help; I really would."

Lyons snorted derisively. "Doctor, unless you've seen things no man's dreamed of, I'm sorry, but I doubt it. These murders are like nothing I've ever seen; as far as I can tell, these people shouldn't be dead! There's nothing on the outside; only internal trauma that shouldn't be there!"

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked carefully.

Lyons gave a sigh. "One of the patients had internal injuries as though they'd been burned to death, but there wasn't a single burn mark on the outside! And then one of my orderlies keeled over with five gallons of water in her lungs. She drowned Doctor, and I watched her the whole time; she never swallowed anything."

"Hmm," the Doctor mused. "Impossible murders, internal injuries that don't match up with exterior appearance…was there anything common? Anything at all?"

Lyons nodded. "Yes, one thing, but I checked that out fully; it's not possible that they died that way."

"What was it?" the Doctor asked, completely focused. Every instinct in his body told him that this was it, this was the defining moment.

Lyons took a deep breath. "All these victims died in terrible pain. The exact part of the upper lobe dealing with pain was almost destroyed. I don't know a force that could do that, but still! That's not a life-ending injury!"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said sharply, worry evident, "you said the upper lobe was severely damaged? What about the rest of the brains?"

Lyons threw his hands up in disgust. "Nothing unusual, but a lot of neuron activity right before death. It's like there was a storm in the brain that cut off when these people died."

"A storm with the center of it a section of the upper lobe…" the Doctor thought aloud. "Were there any non-human deaths?"

Lyons nodded. "Three. They all had similar symptoms except for one, a Skolirian. The symptoms were the exact same, but he had no internal trauma other than his lobe. He was the first to die."

The Doctor sat up in horror. "He was practicing," he whispered. "He—they—it—was trying it out. That's why it was simple."

Lyons looked at the Doctor sharply. "What are you saying Doctor?"

The Doctor looked at Lyons, face serious and concerned. "I need your records, Dr. Lyons. I need to find all the patients you took on at Priax Five. One of them's your killer." He turned and went to a computer module in the wall.

Behind him Lyons sputtered. "What—Doctor! How? How do you know? How is he killing?"

The Doctor was pressing buttons, and snarled when the computer locked down on him. "C'mon," he spat. "I need an executive override from your captain, and we need to hurry. If what I think is true, he'll keep going until he thinks he's ready."

Lyons caught up to the Doctor as they exited the medical ward. "Ready for what? Doctor, _what are you talking about?_"

The Doctor spun. "Ready to turn the _Savant's Ark _into a ghost ship. Ready to kill most of the people here, then keep the few left alive in a half-state of fear and pain. What you've got here Dr. Lyons, is something that the universe hasn't seen in five thousand years: a psychic killer." He turned and ran off.

Lyons stayed still in utter shock. Every scientific principle and instinct he had went against what the Doctor had said…yet somehow it seemed to fit. "Lyons!" the Doctor roared. "Which way?"

Lyons shook his head. "Right!" he called, and ran off to follow this madman who called himself the Doctor.


End file.
